Keith Baker - The fading dream

“I think not.” The dragon’s cruel voice was filled with mirth, and the force of it shook the room. Fragments of glass fell from the cracked windows. Shan Doresh finally turned to see what he had brought into being-too late. He disappeared beneath Sarmondelaryx’s claws, a crunch of snapping bones emerging as she settled her weight upon him. The mithral mask rolled across the floor, bent double. When the dragon lifted her foot, all that was left was a mass of torn, black rags, chunks of bone barely visible beneath the cloth.

The dragon reared back and spread her wings, shattering the tower as she did. Thorn covered her head with her arms as chunks of masonry rained down around her. Sarmondelaryx was roaring with laughter, and at last both laughter and the onslaught of stone came to an end. When Thorn looked up, the dragon was staring at her, fire burning in her eyes.

“Little Thorn,” Sarmondelaryx said. “You and I have unfinished business.”

Taer Lian Doresh B arrakas 25, 999 YK

It was one thing to hear stories of the awesome presence of dragons, of the raw terror they instilled in lesser creatures, and quite another to experience the effect herself. It was as if she were a sheep staring into the eyes of an enormous wolf. Thousands of generations of instinct were screaming in her mind, urging her to fall to the floor and cover her eyes, to hope that the glorious beast might simply pass her by.

She knew that wasn’t going to happen. So she forced those fearful voices down and rose to her feet. She didn’t bother to pick up the myrnaxe; no silver spear would bring down the Angel of Flame.

“What do you want?” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

A rumble shook the room as the dragon chuckled. “What do I want? The same things I’ve always wanted. Freedom. Glory. Revenge!” She reared again as she roared the last word, flames licking around her coal black teeth and shards of stone falling from the crumbling words.

Thorn could have run in that moment, darted down into the tower. But Drix was still bound-mercifully so, as the wards that held him pinned were also protecting him from the falling rubble. If she fled, she’d be abandoning Drix and leaving the stones behind. If Sarmondelaryx wanted to kill her, Thorn knew she could shatter the walls of the tower.

“Revenge on all those who have wronged me!” the dragon roared. “Let the Light of Siberys know fear. Let every last dragon of the Chamber quake, knowing that I will come for them. I will drink the souls of those who tried to bind me to their purposes and shatter every fragment of my father. And you…” Sarmondelaryx looked down at Thorn, the fire burning in her eyes, and Thorn took pride in meeting that gaze. “Or perhaps you’ve suffered enough.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thorn cried. “Just kill me if you’re going to.”

Sarmondelaryx was never one to be kind. Thorn had learned that in her dreams. The Angel of Flame would always twist the knife if given the chance, and their situation was no exception.

“Kill you?” she said. “And what would I kill? You’re not Nyrielle Tam. You never were. You were always Sarmondelaryx.”

“Of course I am,” Thorn said. “I have a brother; I saw him a week ago. I’m a Dark Lantern of the King’s Citadel.”

“Nyrielle Tam had a brother. She served your Citadel. And she died a year ago. Where do you suppose those stones in your spine came from?”

“Far Passage…” Thorn said.

“I took the Preserving Shard when I slew the Keepers of the Grove,” the dragon growled. “I slew an army of giants to claim the Quiet Stone. Your Far Passage was a story to serve one purpose: a single Lantern returns with shards in her back, the rest of her team lost.”

Tears were stinging Thorn’s eyes. “So I never went to Far Passage?”

“You went,” Sarmondelaryx said, her chuckle shaking the room. “You and your lover, proud to serve your king. And both of you died. It was my body that returned, with only your memories.”

“And Nandon didn’t notice the difference?” Thorn said.

“What difference?” Sarmondelaryx said. “We dragons are creatures of fire and magic, and our flesh is a mutable thing. I learned to transform myself long ago, and I have worn a hundred shapes in my lifetime. Our enemies trapped me in your form; the only difference anyone would see would be the shards in your spine, and the story of Far Passage was enough to hide that. But you’ve seen the world through my eyes, eyes that can pierce the deepest shadows. You’ve walked through fire in my skin, unscathed. You may see Nyrielle when you look in the mirror, but your flesh is mine.”

“Why?” Thorn said. “Why would the Citadel do such a thing?”

“Because your Citadel is just one more toy in the hands of my enemies,” Sarmondelaryx told her. “The Chamber had plans for me, but I knew far too much. They knew I’d never be their pawn. And yet they needed me to serve them. The Angel of Flame. The Devourer of Souls. I’ve fought dragons and demons alike. I’ve laid waste to nations and scattered armies. I didn’t realize just how organized they’d become or guessed that they could hold me even for a moment. Far less that they could push my thoughts into my own Preserving Shard and bind your soul to my body.”

“I’m not Nyrielle…?” Thorn said, her voice breaking.

“No. You’re just a ghost who doesn’t even know where her bones are buried.”

“Who?” Thorn said. “In the Citadel? Who did this to me?”

“I’d tell you if I knew, just to watch you suffer,” the dragon replied. “Just know that your Citadel is one more pawn in the games of the Chamber. There are dragons walking your halls, and it is they who decide the fate of your nations, not your kings or your soldiers.”

“All right…” Thorn said. And slowly she let the stammer fall from her voice. “All right. I think you’ve told me enough. You can go now.”

“What?” the dragon roared. “You think you can dismiss me?”

Thorn looked right in her eyes. “I think I just did. Go. I’m done with you.”

Sarmondelaryx laughed and her laughter shook the tower. “You? You are done with me? You are nothing. Less than nothing. And I am Sarmondelaryx. The Bane of Thrane. The Angel of-”

“No,” Thorn said. “You’re not.”

The laughter stopped.

“You’re just a dream,” Thorn said. “Plucked from both of our minds. You may have her memories but you’re nothing. Fly away. See what happens when you pass over the fortress walls. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll continue to exist, drifting through the dreams of others. Or perhaps you’ll simply fade away.”

“No…” Sarmondelaryx said. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

“And what are you going to do about it? You said it yourself. I am you. This is your body, and you’re just a dream waiting for the dreamer to wake. Even if you could kill me in this place, you’d only be killing yourself.”

“No!” the dragon roared.

“Enough!” Thorn said. “Go! Just get out of my sight.”

Sarmondelaryx looked back at her, and there was a gleam of desperation in the dragon’s burning gaze. “We can bargain, you and I.”

“Oh? And what do you possibly have to offer me?”

“Power,” the dragon said. “Vengeance. Those who bound me killed you to do it. They murdered the man you loved just to make the story real. You can’t possibly fight them on your own. With my power, you can strike terror into their hearts. You can make them pay for all that they’ve done to you.”

“And what would I have to do?”

“Release me. Give me my body again. Join with me. Let us become something new, Thorn and Sarmondelaryx together.”